After two incredible years in NYC, I’m moving to LA. I couldn’t be more excited. But it’s a little bittersweet. I grew up in Arizona and called West Hollywood home for years before moving to the East Coast but always knew I had to experience living in NYC. And I didn’t waste a moment.
I filled my weekends with trips to The Met, taking a seat in the European painting wing to get lost in Manet’s scenes of the seaside and Gauguin’s Tahiti. I wandered through Central Park at every season — watching horse-drawn carriages glide over snow-covered hilltops and cherry blossoms bloom in the spring. And then there were afternoons in Soho, dodging taxis and window shopping along its cobblestone streets before sipping glasses of crisp Sancerre with friends at Sant Ambroeus. I took trips to the Hamptons, to Upstate New York, to Stone Barns, down the coast to Miami, across the pond to London. I went to shows at New York Fashion Week. I met talented and inspiring new friends. But I think the best moments were the ones around a table at my sister’s place for Sunday dinner parties with Elvis on the speakers, a roast in the oven, and nights filled with nothing but good conversation.
It’s hard to leave all that behind, and I already have plans for an upcoming trip to NYC, but I’m ready to get back to LA. No place has ever felt more like home.
Photo by Jen Nichols Armstrong